


Marionette

by bouncingclowns



Series: Nat’s Ratched One Shots [1]
Category: Ratched (TV)
Genre: Angst, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, F/F, Nightmare
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-24
Updated: 2020-09-24
Packaged: 2021-03-07 23:40:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,303
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26635981
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bouncingclowns/pseuds/bouncingclowns
Summary: “She is not used to Gwendolyn.Gwendolyn, who is too caring, too gentle, too understanding; Gwendolyn who pulls her close and promises her that she’s safe.”A dark little one shot after one of Mildred’s nightmares.
Relationships: Mildred Ratched/Gwendolyn Briggs
Series: Nat’s Ratched One Shots [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1965112
Comments: 17
Kudos: 163





	Marionette

Mildred Ratched is used to waking up in a sweat, gripping her comforter and screaming into the thick cloak of night. She is not, however, used to the sensation of fingers knotting through her curls and words whispered into the nape of her neck, and the smells of cinnamon and gardenias. 

She is not used to Gwendolyn. 

Gwendolyn, who is too caring, too gentle, too understanding; Gwendolyn who pulls her close and promises her that she’s safe.

Without fail, she asks Mildred what she dreamed of, and Mildred tells her Edmund. He killed her again. It’s not a lie, not entirely at least.

He _does_ kill her in her dreams, but only when she’s lucky.

“Go and take a shower. I’ll make you some tea.” Gwendolyn kisses her temple and has a robe laid out for her before she can even pull back the covers.

Mildred’s stomach churns as she strips out of her sweat soaked nightgown. Her fingers trace the cotton of the robe, feet tense against the cool tile floor. Gwendolyn lights the gas stove and fills a kettle, humming all the while. 

It seems futile to take hot showers in the balmy Mexican heat, but Mildred does it anyways. She turns the faucet as high as it will go, and only dares to enter when she can no longer see her reflection in the bathroom mirror. Her shoulder grazes the stream, and she hisses.

Her mind wanders to Mrs. Cartwright - the way she had screamed and pleaded for mercy in the 117 degree bath. She wonders how warm her shower is, and feels guilty for flinching at all. 

Her skin is red by the time she’s satisfied from a mixture of the heat and how hard she’s scrubbed it. Mildred turns the nozzle until the water line is cut, and grabs her robe from where she’s flung it onto the bathroom sink.

There’s tea on the bedside table when she’s finished, but Gwendolyn is nowhere to be seen in the tiny studio they call home.

“Come look at the sunrise!” The older woman calls as if she too can feel the panic bubbling in Mildred’s stomach. 

Mildred snatches up the teacup and obeys.

Outside, the sky is streaked pink and pastel yellow, and the ocean laps gently against an empty beach. Mildred sighs at the first signs of morning, all but collapsing in the wicker chair next to her love.

Gwendolyn places a hand delicately on the table between them, as if inviting Mildred to do the same, but her eyes stay glued to the shoreline.

“It was a bad one, wasn’t it?” Gwendolyn knows better than to pry. It’s not her first time waking the battered nurse up, and she’s certain it won’t be the last. She knows better, but she can’t help it, and she thinks maybe she’s earned her curiosity.

Mildred brings her teacup to her lower lip and leaves it there, like a child who’s afraid to spill. She doesn’t reply, but Gwendolyn hears her try to stifle a shutter.

“Mildred?”

“You were right. The sunrise is beautiful.”

“ _Mildred._ ”

“Maybe we can go for a walk today? The doctor said it’s important that you stay active.” Mildred meets her gaze, and chances a hopeful smile.

Gwendolyn sighs heavily. “I’m worried about you, darling.”

Her smile drops, not that it ever reached her eyes to begin with. She places her cup on the table, and takes Gwendolyn’s hand gingerly. 

“ _Yes,_ ” She confirms hautilly, almost indignantly, “it was,” before flicking her eyes back towards the view. 

Gwendolyn squeezes her fingers. “Will you tell me about it?”

Mildred’s jaw clenches, and color rises in her cheeks. “What is there to talk about?” She manages between her teeth.

Much to her dismay, Gwendolyn’s hand retreats onto her lap.

“I just wish you trusted me.”

A seagull caws overhead before diving head first into the shallows with a _plop_. When it comes up, Mildred can make out the wriggling silhouette of a minnow.

 _Poor dear._ She thinks. _It’s suffering will be over soon._

“Did you hear what I said?” Gwendolyn practically growls it. 

Mildred shakes her head, wet curls tossing from side to side. “I’m sorry, I’m … I’m not myself.”

Gwendolyn stands up hastily, practically knocking over her chair as she does. “Well,” she breathes, eyes ablaze, “let me know when you are.”

“Gwen? _Gwendolyn._ ”

She’s already at the door by the time Mildred manages to place a hand on her forearm. Gwendolyn wriggles out of her grasp and spins on her heels to face the woman. Her brow is furrowed in the way someone might look at a petulant child, or an orphan. It makes Mildred’s skin crawl. 

“Please don’t be cross with me.”

“I’m not.” Gwendolyn’s eyes flick towards the ocean.

Mildred’s lips purse into a knowing frown. “ _Please_ don’t lie to me.”

“Well why not?” Gwendolyn whines. “It is all you ever seem to do.”

“Gwendolyn that’s …” Mildred brings her palms up to the woman’s cheeks, but she can’t bring herself to finish what is so obviously another lie.

“I’m tired too, Mildred.” Gwen whispers, bridging the gap between their foreheads, and closing her eyes. “Every time you scream, I think ‘that’s it: that’s as far as my heart can break,’ but every time, I’m wrong.”

Mildred kisses her tenderly and pulls her into her arms.

“I don’t know how much more of this I can take. I just want to help you, but I can’t do that if you won’t _let me in_.” She presses her palm to the small of Mildred’s back.

It’s as if she’s been burned with a branding iron.

She pulls away. Well, not really pulls, as much as jerks, and stumbles backwards practically off their porch steps. Mildred’s face puckers, and her arms fold around her midsection.

“Woah, hey.”

“I’m sorry.” Mildred blinks, pinching the skin near her right elbow.

“It’s alright.”

“I just … please don’t touch me there.”

“I won’t, I promise.” Gwendolyn smiles as if to signal a truce - a silent promise that she won’t push for answers until she’s ready to offer them.

Mildred is tired; so very tired.

She presses her palms against her eyes and inhales without ever fully exhaling. Gwendolyn drapes an arm around her shoulders and leads her back to her chair. She sits on the ground near Mildred’s feet, willing her to look at her, and brushing away tears when she finally does.

“I love you, do you hear me?” She murmurs, pulling Mildred’s left hand to her lip and kissing her knuckle.

“I was in …” Mildred’s voice is barely a whisper.

Gwendolyn doesn’t move - she hardly breathes for fear of spooking her.

“That basement - that _goddamned_ basement. Edmund and I both were, only this time …”

Her brow furrows, and Gwendolyn nods a silent reassurance that she’s listening, that she hasn’t been scared away.

“He wasn’t a child - I … _I_ still was, but he wasn’t. The curtain went up, and I could hear them all laughing.”

Gwendolyns is afraid that the bile rising in her throat might purge itself. She swallows heard, and squeezes Mildred’s hand harder still. 

“He kept pulling me against him, like he was trying to … to meld us into one. I begged him to stop, and he just ... smiled, as if he was in on the joke, and -“ Mildred chokes on the weight of what she’s admitting to.

“It’s not that I don’t trust you, Gwen. I’m trying to protect you.”

“Whatever from?”

“From …” Mildred gestures inadvertently. “From _this._ From _me._ ”

“Mildred, I -“

“ _Don’t_ tell me you don’t need protection, Gwendolyn Briggs. Don’t you dare.” It’s supposed to be an order, but it’s more arduous than it is commanding.

If she didn’t know any better, she would think Mildred Ratched was unsure of herself.

“Are you hungry?” She slips out of Gwendolyn’s all-too-tender gaze, brushing past her, and padding towards the door. “I’ll make some breakfast.”

Gwendolyn just sighs.

Morning glows inside their little apartment. The sun reflects off every surface and shadows dance across Mildred’s face as she cracks eggs into a pan, and grinds pepper with a mortar and pestle. Gwendolyn leans against the doorway in a daze.

Any other morning, a smile would grace her lips. She tries to ignore the way the younger woman’s shoulders slump forward, and how small she looks cloaked in her pale blue bathrobe.

 _She’s just tired_ . Gwendolyn corrects herself. _Christ, we both are._

“I’m not going anywhere, Mildred.”

“Well I should hope not,” she quips as she butters a piece of toast, “your eggs will get cold.”

It’s humor, or at least it’s supposed to be. She would laugh, were she not utterly terrified but how quickly Mildred can shutter her misery.

“Mildred, forget about the damned eggs for a second, will you?” Gwendolyn approaches her like she could collapse into a pile of dust at any moment.

She’s smiling when she finally turns around, leaning against the kitchen table with eyes gleaming. “They’re forgotten. Is there something else you’d rather occupy my mind?”

Mildred’s fingers begin to toy with the hem of her bathrobe as she studies Gwendolyn with a raised eyebrow. 

“Not now, Mildred.”

“Oh come now, I thought you were _hungry_.” Her robe drops off her shoulder and exposes the pale skin of her clavicle.

She looks so pleased with herself. Gwendolyn is certain she’ll be sick. 

“I said _enough!_ ”

She never raises her voice. Mildred falters.

“I don’t understand.” She pulls the robe back over her shoulder.

Gwendolyn is pale, practically green. Her face is coiled into a snarl. Tears brim the corners of her eyes. Mildred goes to wipe them away, but she steps back. 

“Jesus Christ, Mildred, I’m not a child; stop treating me like I’ll break.”

“I don’t understand.” She echoes. “I told you about … I did what you asked! Why are you still cross?”

“Because it’s not enough!” She regrets it the second she blurts it out. 

Mildred looks like she’s just been punched in the stomach. She clasps her hand and wrings until they’re pinkish, but Gwendolyn can still see them trembling.

“That’s … that’s not … that came out wrong.”

“Then I suggest you make yourself clear.” Mildred rasps in a dangerously low and steady tone. “Now.”

Gwendolyn’s mouth gapes long enough for her to huff and roll her eyes.

“I … I have watched you bend over backwards to get me healthy. I have _seen_ the empathy that you are capable of.”

“And?”

“ _And_ \- I am afraid for you.”

“Oh please.” Mildred scoffs, and turns her attention back to their breakfast. 

“What is it that you’re so afraid of?”

Mildred scoffs again.

“I already know the sordid details of -“

“ _No._ You _don’t._ ”

Mildred slams the mortar on the counter, and Gwendolyn is surprised it doesn’t crack. She turns to face her, eyes blazing.

_“Oh sis. Don’t ask questions you already know the answers to.”_

“You know what I have chosen to tell you. If you knew everything? If you …”

_His hands on her shoulders, her chest, tracing her waist until he’s digging his nails into the small of her back._

“You wouldn’t even be able to look at me, let alone …”

_The audience laughs as he pulls down the straps of her slip. They clap when he pushes her to the ground. They coo when he starts to unbutton his thermal._

Gwendolyn’s voice echoes somewhere, but it’s drowned out by their uproarious applause. She feels like she’s on fire. 

_Those goddamned stage lights._

Mildred pushes past her, slamming the porch door shut, and pulling the blinds closed so fast that Gwendolyn’s shocked she doesn’t rip them. 

She glares at the white linen like she’s wishing for it to swallow her whole. Mildred’s thumb starts to stroke the curtain, and breathing falls in rhythm with the movement. 

_Up, down, up, down, up-_

_“Oh sis.”_

_-down, up, down-_

_“Don’t ask questions you already know the answers to.”_

“You’re safe, my love.” How long have Gwendolyn’s arms been around her shoulders? “There’s no one here but us. You’re safe. I promise you.”

_Up. Down. Up. Down. Up._

Her shoulders relax. 

_Down. Up. Down._

Gwendolyn’s shampoo lingers on her nose. 

_Up. Down._

Gwendolyn’s lips graze her cheek.

Mildred’s grasp loosens, leaving a slight dimple in the linen curtains. 

“I’m sorry.” She whispers.

“Don’t be sorry.”

“I didn’t mean to scare you.”

“You didn’t.”

It’s a lie that neither of them will acknowledge - not now, at least.

Mildred spins in her arms so they are facing each other. She tucks her arms between them and rests her chin on Gwendolyn’s shoulder.

“I don’t want to feel this way.” She admits. “I thought I could bottle it all up, but …”

Mildred’s hair smells like rosemary and lemons. Gwendolyn brings her fingers to tangle through her curls and revels at the way she’s nestled against her.

“I can’t love you and _him_ at the same time. There’s not enough room inside me.”

“Are you … are you saying you don’t want to be with me?” Gwendolyn’s breath catches.

“What? No!” Mildred rests her palms on her cheeks. “God no, the opposite.”

Gwendolyn smiles and kisses her like she’s not sure if it’s the last time.

“I …” Mildred’s words falter against her lips. “I don’t think it’s going to be easy.”

She meets her gaze. Mildred’s brow is furrowed, and her lips draw into a pout.

Gwendolyn smiles and pulls her thumb over her lower lip.

“ _Nothing_ about you is easy, Mildred Ratched. It’s why I love to love you.”

Breakfast is surely ruined, not that either of them are hungry. They stay tucked away, swaying like they had so many nights at the women’s bar back in Lucia. Mildred thinks she can hear the faint tinkering of Duke Ellington’s _Royal Garden Blues_.

Little does she know that Gwendolyn hears it to. 


End file.
